Brats!

Listen.... hear that?.... no? Hmmm, that's strange.

That sound used to be the sound of my ticking biological clock. It seemed to be ticking louder each day, but recently, it's slowed...way....down. I wonder why... oh, right. It's because I spend 26 hours a week baby-sitting the anti-christ and his sister.

Since January, I've been back on the nanny train, saving every last penny given to me by parents who don't want to raise their own children and putting it towards grad school. While my savings account is growing quite steadily, I am now worried about two things:

1. That dealing with these children will scare me away from ever having children of my own.

2. That I will develop a drinking problem.

What, you think I'm overreacting? Let's take a look back at the last 3 months, shall we? The 8-year-old, let's call him "Adam" is, I'm pretty certain, the Spawn of Satan. He is, what they say, an "explosive" child. The first week I worked with him, he completely lost his shit because I didn't cut his kiwi the way he wanted it to be cut. I mean, he really lost it. Screaming, crying, jumping up and down. In the time I've worked with him, he has threatened to do the following to me (in no particular order): throw a rock at me, punch me in the eye, poke my eye with a knife, and shoot a rubber dart in my eye. I think I should start wearing protective goggles. He has also told me to shut up, calls me "missy," tells me that cleaning up is not his job, it's my job, and that he doesn't have to listen to me. Doesn't he sound like a little angel?

He hasn't hit me, but he does hit his sister with alarming frequency. Then he refuses to apologize because as he says, "I'm not sorry." See? Anti-christ.

And here's the kicker: They tell me he's gotten so much better than he used to be. How is that possible? Apparently, not only did he used to hit his sister more often than he does now, but also his nanny.

The thing is, this kid runs the house. His parents don't want to deal with his tantrums, so basically whatever he says goes. He refuses to pick up his toys? Mom and dad will eventually just do it. Yeah, this is an 8-year-old who still sucks his thumb. Constantly.

My weekday alcohol intake has definitely increased. I even suggested to Grayer that I stock up on the little airplane wine bottles, so I can have a little glass while I'm working. She suggested that could lead to a dependency. I know my kids are going to be awesome because I will not pay anyone to raise them for me. However, I am most definitely extra careful about taking my birth control every day. You can never be too careful.

Happy Birthday, Violet!

Today is Violet's birthday. Today our parents will call to sing to her over the phone (her favorite!). Today is the day that I have to stop making fun of her for getting old because I sense that she doesn't find it funny anymore. Today Violet will be taken out to dinner by her ACTUAL BOYFRIEND. Today Violet's friends will buy her drinks. Today Violet will hopefully drunk text me some good material. Today Violet will get Birthday Booty. Today Violet will realize that this year is bound to be her best one yet (Birthday Booty promises that).

Enjoy your day Violet. It's sure to be a good one.

Happy Birthday, Grayer!

Today is June 6. The 157th day of the year.
Important events that have occured on this day in history: Andrew Jackson became the first president to ride a train. D-Day. And the birth of Grayer. So be sure to take a moment to wish her a Happy Birthday!

Congratulations, Gray! You are now a quarter of a century old!

What does this mean? It means those whispers about how you're still single will get a bit louder. It also means that the ticking noise you hear- your biological clock- will also get louder. Trust me on that one.

But in all seriousness, you have a few more years to goof off. It's ok that your love life has become unbelievably messy and that we need Cliff's Notes to understand it. (You should really publish that one for us. Even I'm starting to get confused.)

Hopefully you can snap out of your Birthday Hangover fog long enough to enjoy your day and open some presents. (Except being sung to by various family members. Nobody enjoys that, which is why I won't do it.) Please eat an extra slice of chocolate cake for me. Make it a big one.

Under Pressure

Over the past few years I've been feeling some pressure from my dad to give him grandchildren. I find this kind of ridiculous. I'm still in my mid twenties afterall. It started out with my dad's friends having grandchildren. I would over hear their conversations where my dad would say that neither I, nor my brother, would be having kids anytime soon. Then he started throwing comments in about how he wanted grandchildren. My dad doesn't seem to understand how hard it is to find the right person. He was, and probably still is, convinced that my singleton status is a choice. If I really wanted to be in a relationship then I would be and the fact that I wasn't in some way meant that I was standing between him and the grandchildren that he desired. He even went so far as to purchase a baby quilt at a church auction for the phantom babies in his dreams.

This whole thing has caused some conflict between my dad and I. On some occasions, I admit that I've lost my cool. As I argued with my dad, the twitch in my eye became more pronounced. At one point I even became so exasperated that I yelled at him and left the dinner table crying.

After this incident, my mom told my dad he wasn't allowed to make any comments to me about dating or babies. Over this past year he has been very good about this. Even when he knew I was dating someone, for the most part he didn't ask questions or make comments. (I'm sure this is killing him.) However, now when I overhear him talking to friends instead he seeks pity by saying things like "I'm never going to have grandchildren" in a dejected tone.

A couple of weeks ago I left my dad alone with one of my guy friends. This may have been a mistake. Somehow my dad turned the conversation on my dating and his desire for grandchildren. (Mind you he was talking to my friend who has been trying unsuccessfully to have children with his wife for several years.) Apparently, while talking to me about this is off limits, my friends are not. My guy friend told my dad that I was dating MM for a while and said that I had a couple of prospects now. This last part was of course a lie to placate my father. He also reminded my dad that some people can't have children.

The irony is that I always wanted to have children, but now I'm not so sure. Violet wrote a post last month on baby aches and I found that I couldn't relate at all. Maybe this is in part because I've been so stressed and unhappy with my job. Even thinking about adding children to the mix is terrifying. Maybe I'm just trying not to put the cart before the horse. (Lets face it, I need to find a guy first.) Or maybe the pressure to produce progeny is just too much for me.

My uterus feels... empty

As Grayer is quick to point out, I am the one around here feeling the pressure to settle down and reproduce. I don't deny this fact. I admit it: I have the babyache. Some of you may know what I'm talking about, but for those of you who don't, it's a little something like this: Every time you see a baby or a young child, you get this achy (empty) feeling in your uterus. And in some cases, if the baby or young child in question does something particularly adorable, you may start to get choked up, or actual tears may come to your eyes. My friends joke about it, but it pretty much sucks.

So why the sudden baby aches? Are my ovaries really drying up? (By the way, that joke gets less and less funny every time...) I still have a few years to go before I hit 30, and women are having children much later these days, so I don't really think that has to do with it. If I had to, I would pin it to one incident in particular that happened just over a year ago.

I was volunteering in South America, and on the weekends, I would volunteer at a local orphanage. The girls were adorable, and it broke my heart every time I went to leave and they got upset or asked me not to go (because everyone in their life has left them at some point). One afternoon, I was sitting on a swing with one of the younger girls in my lap. The swing functioned as a rocking chair, and she ended up falling asleep. And with that, the baby aches began.

I try to keep that to myself as much as possible though, since letting potential mates know that my uterus feels empty and my ovaries are drying up isn't much of a turn on...

Cougar Town?

As we have all gotten a year older in the past few months, some of us (i.e. Violet) are really feeling the pressure. You know the pressure. The pressure to convert to a Smug Married. The pressure to dress your age, start a career, move out of your parents' basement. The pressure to pop out a couple of kids. The pressure to stay in a loveless marriage because you got married out of desperation and peer pressure, yada, yada, yada. To avoid these pressures myself, I'm keeping clear of age-appropriate-financially-stable-yuppies. No, sir. I'm sticking with the youngin's.

As I've mentioned before, Conrad IV is a few years younger than me. When we first started spending time together, he down played the age difference. "It's not even 3 years, it's actually 2 years and..10 months" he would say. Now that he's got me he will take any opportunity to point out how old I am. He even told me his mother was glad he was spending time with an "older and more mature woman." In three years, this will bother me, right now--not so much. So what if he's barely legal. So what if he's still in school and makes no money. So what if the slightest sign of commitment freaks him the hell out. Fine by me!

This, however, is not my first thing for a kid. Last summer, I totally had a thing for an 18-year-old intern. Then there's Emmett, who is still as fine piece of eye-candy as ever (and he's almost 21!). I'm not going to lie, sometimes I ask him to lift things for me or reach things off the upper shelves (and hell yes, I check out his ass). Obviously you can see a trend.

Ok, so maybe I'm a cougar in training, but I can see the appeal. They're hot, young and full of energy. And they don't want commitment. Perfect! Just wait. In three years, when I should be feeling the pressure to conform/move out of my parents basement, I'll be booking my annual cougar cruise.

As sexy as that sounds, maybe the pressure is getting to me. I recently had a dream that my mother kept nagging me to try on a wedding dress. After putting up quite a fight, she finally won and I tried it on. It looked stunning. As Violet and I believe that all dreams have meanings, she thought this meant I wanted to get married (Eeek!). When I asked Conrad what this dream could mean, he said, "You're old and you should seek older men." Thanks, kid. That's the spirit.

Happy Birthday, Scarlet!

...will have to face up to the fact that another entire year has gone by, during which everyone else except me has mutated into Smug Married, having children plop, plop, plop, left right and center and making hundreds of thousands of pounds and inroads into very hub of establishment, while I career rudderless and boyfriendless through dysfunctional relationships and professional stagnation.

We get October started off with a bang, as it is Scarlet's birthday. And really, Scarlet, there is absolutely no reason for you to feel like Bridget. First of all, not everyone has mutated into a Smug Married. Grayer and I certainly haven't. Just like not everyone is plopping out kids left, right, and center. Again, Grayer and I are shining examples of childlessness. And finally, not everyone is making hundreds and thousands of pounds. At last check, Grayer and I were still living at poverty level.

So remember, when everyone else around you seems to have all their shit together, and you realize that your life is getting more and more like Bridget's every day (because trust me, it does) just remember one thing: We're right there with you. Happy Birthday, m'dear!

Happy Birthday, Violet!

Sschluuuuurp!

Listen, it's the sounds of your ovaries drying up! It's the tick tock of your biological clock!

All joking aside, Vi, I hope you have a fantastic day. You may be regretting that you decided to end perfectly convenient relationship right before your special day. Stop it. Think not of how you don't have a man to spend this day with, but of how you don't have to fake a pleasant surprise when you open that awful gift. Think not of how you won't go on a romantic dinner date to celebrate your birth, but instead think of how unromantic/fun tailgating with a bunch of friends will be tonight. (Romance, blah!). Think not of how he won't sing to you during a bubble bath, but think of how the parents will sing "Happy Birthday" to you via skype (Bubblebath optional).

You maybe be older, but your wiser, more experienced (*wink) and still hot! Go have fun tonight! (Action, action, we love action!)

Post-Breakup syndrome

Upon returning to reality yesterday after my weekend away with the Highlander, I knew we had come to the end of our road. The cons were just adding up far too quickly. I thought things were settled on Sunday when I said "Maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore," but apparently he thought I was saying that out of anger, because when he came over on Tuesday to pick up his cat (who I was very sorry to see go), he told me he was "confused" about us. "What do you think?," he asked. "I don't think we should see each other anymore." That ended his confusion.

And after he left, I was rather quite jolly. Here I had managed to end a relationship that in all aspects was extremely convenient, and would have been easy to stay in, but for all the wrong reasons. We both managed to act like mature adults, going out with a hug and a goodbye kiss (0r two), and the promise that we would hang out again, and wouldn't let our differences stand in the way of the budding friendship between our cats.

But it wasn't long before the post-breakup syndrome set in. You know, that sudden realization that you have no idea where your next kiss or cuddle is coming from. Or realizing that you are a mere 10 days away from your next birthday and are once again 100% single. (Why, oh why couldn't I have held out for the birthday?! No. That would have been immoral and wrong.) And finally, that sinking feeling that you really and truly haven't made any plans for the weekend yet. Because let's face it: when you're single, you have to work to fill up your evenings. If you don't put forth some serious effort, you will end up spending night after night watching Grey's Anatomy with your cat. (And that's only acceptable on Thursdays.)

My PBS was not helped by the fact that High sent me a sappy text or two about how sad he was. Call me crazy, but I see a break-up hookup in our future. But for now, I shook off the sappy texts and emailed my girls that I was now 100% single and needed some help in filling up my calendar. (This is why it helps not to ignore those girls while The Boy is still around. I pride myself in NEVER doing that.) They'll come through for me. They always do.

Happy Birthday, Grayer

Today is Grayer's birthday. (So everyone should wish her a Happy Birthday.) Another year older, and STILL single. Inching closer and closer to spinsterhood. (tick, tock...) And hey, you've already got the cat! I say this dripping with sarcasm of course, only because I know that there are smug marrieds out there making ridiculous statements like that. (That and Grayer is the youngest member of the WWBD? team. If she has already reached spinsterhood, I may as well just hang up my ovaries and call it a day.)

And if you were Bridget, you would not only be thinking about how everyone else has crossed over to The Dark Side (i.e. become a smug married), but also be stressing about how to celebrate. Dinner party? Out to a restaurant?

Oh God. What to do? Wish had not been born but immaculately burst into being in similar, though not identical, manner to Jesus then would not have had to have birthday. Sympathize with Jesus in sense of embarrassment he must, and perhaps should, feel over two-millennia-old social imposition of own birthday on large areas of globe.

So don't feel guilty about the fact that other people are calling, sending you cards, or even gifts (I hope you like mine), but instead enjoy it. And when the parentals and unpleasant aunts sing to you over the phone, just roll your eyes and tune them out until the awkwardness goes away. Unless, of course, they sing to you in person, then grit your teeth and smile. It only lasts 30 seconds. Not only will I not sing to you, but I will eat a piece of cake, or some ice cream, or maybe even both, just for you.

Question of the Week: Eggs for sale

I moved over the weekend. Finally, I'm back in my favorite city (also the best city in the country for singletons! Hurrah! Am no longer social pariah to be looked upon with pity!) and also happen to live a mere 10 minutes from my ex-imaginary boyfriend.

I saw him tonight for the first time in over a year. Very happy to report that no old feelings crept up. Instead, I just looked at him like a very, very good friend. It was apparent that we are definitely comfortable with our "just friends" status when, discussing my current unemployed status, he mentioned that I could sell my eggs for literally thousands of dollars. Which led us to the discussion, would you sell your eggs (or in his case, sperm) for thousands of dollars, and have the possibility that you have children out there, somewhere, that you'll never know about? (We stopped before getting to the awkward stage of discussing whether or not he would donate sperm to me if I still didn't have children when the tick tock of my biological clock gets out of control.)

This is the long way of asking WWBD if broke and needed cash and had perfectly good eggs?